


Coherence

by commodorecliche



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know how else to tag this, Intimacy, M/M, Nightmares, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reconciliation, Romance, SHEITH - Freeform, Sex, Sexual Tension, Sparring, Teasing, Touching, and it gets fixed, basically keith and shiro haven't talked about their relationship since shiro came back, canonverse, emotional tension, intimate sex, mild mentions of ptsd, through sparring touching confession of feelings kisses and sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:23:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7536274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commodorecliche/pseuds/commodorecliche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/>
    <i>Close your eyes</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Let me touch you now</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Let me give you something</i>
    <br/>
    <i>That is real</i>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </p>
</div>It's been a while now, and they haven't really talked, at least not about anything important. They haven't talked about Shiro's disappearance, or what happened to him during captivity, and they certainly haven't talked about what they were before the Kerberos mission and how things have changed. But nothing can stay bottled up forever. During a late night combat training session,  Shiro and Keith find themselves in a position to talk, to reconcile, to come to terms with all the things they endured and all the things they lost.
            </blockquote>





	Coherence

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a companion piece to [this drawing](http://commodorecliche.tumblr.com/post/147167643583/idk-this-was-supposed-to-be-them-sparring-and) I did a little while back, this is a story about love, acceptance, and reconciliation.
> 
> Or, as [boysblush](https://boysblush.tumblr.com) called it: _"rip your soul out through your anus pain but Shiro loves you baby"._
> 
> It's feelings, angst, porn, and happy endings. Enjoy. :)

Shiro doesn’t dream very often anymore. It’s a defense mechanism, he supposes; something that his brain developed to protect itself from all the things he’d endured under Galran captivity.

But it doesn’t mean he _never_ dreams.

Tonight has been noisy and raw inside his head, so full of things he’d forgotten, and desperately wishes to never have to remember. His sleep has been fitful and the time he’s spent awake is starting to rival the time he’s spent asleep. There’s isolation and darkness - a cold, hard cell with cold, hard floors on the inside of his head. There’s blood and lacerations across his flesh, and the sounds of bodies as they’re dragged in lifeless heaps along the corridor outside his cell.

There is terror so real that it’s only shaken off - and barely so - when his eyes fling open and reveal the stillness of his castle bedroom.

It takes a moment for his senses to settle down, to register that the darkness around him is just the normal darkness of a bedroom and not the forced, vacant darkness of a prison cell. His chest is heaving and his body is cold with sweat. But the bed beneath him is soft, the sheets atop him warm, and there’s no clanking of the feet of Galran guards prowling the halls outside his door.

Shiro closes his eyes and swallows the hardened lump that has formed in his throat before sitting up slowly. He flings his legs over the side of the bed, feet pressing flat against the floor. The warmth of the floor sends relief flooding through his body. With a low breath, he stands and grabs a hoodie from his closet. He slips it on and heads out of his bedroom, figuring that a quiet walk around the castle might clear his head a bit, or at least clear it enough to get some sleep.

**::**

The castle is quiet at this hour, because even rambunctious paladins have to sleep sometimes, and there’s a part of Shiro that enjoys the peace of it. It’s a different kind of quiet here, not oppressive but comforting. But there’s another part of him that longs for a companion, even at this late hour, if only to remind himself that he’s safe now, free now, and with people who care for him.

He loses track of how long he wanders the halls, allowing himself to unfocus on his thoughts, and take comfort in the steady, electronic hum of the castle's systems. But the low-pitched grunt he just barely hears in the distance catches his attention, jerking him back to reality in an instant: it’s the sound of a struggle. Shiro pauses, ears perked now and listening closely to try to hone in on it. It’s grunting and clanging, followed by thumps and pained groans, and that alone is enough to send him running down the corridor to find the source.

His legs carry him quickly, ears still focused hard on wherever the sound might be coming from, and following it as best he can. It grows louder and louder, until the hallway shortens and dead ends…. at the training center.

Shiro slows his legs, easing down to a hesitant trot as he approaches. He keeps his guard up though, fully aware that it’s still possible that any enemy has infiltrated them - he always tries to remind himself that no matter their perceived safety, the ship isn’t impenetrable to the enemies that hunt them. He pads up to the entrance of the training gym and peers in with caution, still hesitant and not wanting to reveal his presence just yet. Relief floods his chest when all he’s met with is the sight of Keith as he trades blows and kicks with one of the ship’s automated training droids.

Shiro’s stance relaxes a bit, his guarded caution falling away at the realization that no one is actually in danger, and he does his best not to wonder why Keith would choose these late hours to train. He leans against the open entranceway and watches with calm curiosity as Keith fights. Keith dodges every hit, and returns each blow in kind, the simulation hardly able to keep up with his moves to defend itself. The droid is down in a matter of moments, and Keith is left standing victorious over its crumpled form, his chest heaving, shirt beading up with sweat.

Shiro figures now is as good a time as any to reveal himself.

“Really impressive,” He says, stepping into the training center fully.

Keith startles at the sound of his voice - his body already tense and primed for self defense - but relaxes the moment he sees Shiro. Keith huffs out a chuckle and shrugs.

“You’re better than I remember,” Shiro continues, his voice bouncing a bit around the large, otherwise empty gym.

Keith gives a brief cock of his head, still panting a bit and trying to regain his composure from the scuffle.

“Yeah, well,” he starts, “I had a bit of free time while you were gone…”

Keith words don’t sound bitter, not at all, but Shiro certainly doesn’t miss the tinge of sadness in his voice. Shiro figures it’s best not to mention it. A lot of things have changed and a lot of time has passed since Shiro first left Earth for the Kerberos mission, and the distance that exists between them now - unspoken and untouched - is something he’s sure they’ll figure out in due time… but not now.

“You were always good in close-hand combat, but you’ve definitely improved. I’m sure a little more time with these guys,” Shiro kicks at the deactivated metal droid slumped on the floor between them, “and you’d be even better.”

Keith bites his lip and shrugs half-heartedly, turning away and striding over to the opposite wall where his jacket and bayard sit discarded. He crouches down beside them and steadily strips off his hand wraps, tossing them atop his coat.

“Eh, there’s a bit of a rapid learning curve with the training programs, unfortunately.” He mutters.

Shiro furrows his brows, a bit confused at Keith’s words, and steps over the droid to follow him.

“How do you mean?”

The second wrap pulled off, Keith flexes his fingers and straightens back up. He meets Shiro’s eyes for a brief second, but diverts quickly to look back at the droid that still lies motionless on the gym floor.

“I mean, it’s a good program, but it’s just a program, you know? There’s only so many algorithms and only so much predictive capacity that it has.”

“So, you’ve basically figured out how they attack and how they defend, huh?”

“Pretty much. Still good practice, but I dunno that it’s doing much more than just maintaining the skills.”

Shiro hums his affirmation.

“Just doesn’t quite compare to a real enemy, I suppose.”

“Nah, not really,” Keith agrees.

Shiro nods, but says nothing, allowing the silence to fall between them. Next to him, Keith clears his throat.

“So, what are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” is all Shiro says, not wishing to divulge any details of the dreams that interrupt his rest so often these days.

“Oh.”

And within an instant, the quiet forces itself between them once again. He opts for the moment to simply watch Keith. Their lives have been so busy since they were reunited, so hectic that he’s hardly had a moment to take his companion in again. He watches as Keith rubs the pads of his fingers across his knuckles and massages at the flesh of his hands. He watches as Keith lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow before shuffling his fingers through his hair and shaking the locks from his eyes.

Movements of Keith’s that Shiro remembers so well… He’s hardly changed at all. Physically stronger, maybe, but as capable and adroit as Shiro always knew him to be. And god if Shiro isn’t grateful for it.

The silence between them is a bit uncomfortable, though certainly not unbearable, and that’s half the reason Shiro hasn’t excused himself yet. Though part of him wonders if perhaps he should leave and allow Keith to finish whatever other training modules he wanted to get through. But he doesn’t.

Instead, with one curt nod, more to himself than to Keith, Shiro exhales and takes a few steps forward back onto the training floor. As he does so, he strips off his hoodie, tossing it behind him at the wall where Keith’s things lie. He flexes a bit in his tshirt, and begins to roll his shoulders and stretch out his arms. He doesn’t even have to look back to know that Keith’s eyes are on him.

“Um, whatcha doing?” Keith asks curiously.

“Limbering up, just gimme a second and I’ll be set.” Shiro turns to face Keith, not stopping his motions as he attempts to warm up his muscles.

“...For what, exactly?”

“Well, you need a real partner, so,” With one more roll of his shoulders, Shiro lets his arms settle into a defensive stance, “...here’s a real partner.”

Keith’s lips quirk into a grin.

“You serious?”

“Totally.” Shiro relaxes his arms a bit, “Unless you don’t think you can take me.”

That earns him a larger smile and a light scoff.

“Please,” Keith snarks, “Okay, fine, you’re on.”

Shiro smirks and gives him a nod, lifting his arms back to their defensive posture and gesturing for Keith to join him. Keith strides towards him, rolling his shoulders a bit and stretching out his neck as he positions himself in opposition to Shiro.

Shiro’s almost ready to start, mentally preparing for Keith’s first move, when he catches Keith’s gaze from across their hands. The look on his face is soft and open, and it takes Shiro a little by surprise.

“Just like old times…” Keith mutters, eyes never leaving Shiro’s.

Something tight clenches in Shiro’s chest, but he smiles sadly and nods.

“Yeah.”

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

**::**

 

The first blow is quick, and despite Shiro’s thorough training in hand-to-hand combat, and despite his more recent experiences with actual enemy combatants, it still catches him a little off guard. Keith is definitely faster now than he had been as a cadet, and Shiro’s barely able to block it in time and follow through with his own jab.

The two of them move in a frenetic blur of hands and feet, jabs and punches, dodges, misses, and flesh to flesh contact. Even as cadets, the two of them had never held back their power around the other, and Shiro, even in the hurry of their movement, is thankful for one more thing that hasn’t changed between them. Keith fights him with everything he has - and Shiro wants no less from him. Keith meets every punch with a blocking forearm or rounding elbow, throwing power and unbridled force in response to Shiro’s unrelenting strength and skill.

The only pauses in their movements come when one of them manages to gain an iota of distance between them, but the pauses are short-lived and electric, the thrum of the brawl alive between their bodies. Shiro takes advantage of the brief moments of inaction, letting himself take in Keith’s face, his stance, to take in everything that he is and has become since they’ve been apart.

Keith’s face is never hardened. Determined, yes, but never angry or upset or frustrated, and Shiro takes comfort in it.

After his time in Galran captivity, he never expected to take comfort in combat again. But with Keith, this isn’t just combat. Keith isn’t an enemy and he never has been.

He’s a comrade, a companion… a _partner_ , and he always will be. Their training fuels Shiro now in all the same ways it used to back on earth. His stomach burns for the contact in these brief moments of reprieve, he yearns the intimacy of it, as though he were relearning Keith’s presence all over again.

Shiro has to wonder if Keith feels the same.

When they move again, it’s just as dynamic as before. They’re a little more tired, but unrelenting still. Keith gets a few good hits in - hands and knuckles and elbows touching muscle and flesh - but so does Shiro, and one final hard blow sends Keith to the floor. 

Halfway ready call the fight there, Shiro hardly has a moment to think before Keith’s leg swings around and knocks his legs out of from under him.

Shiro’s back collides with the floor with a force that steals his breath in one punctuated grunt. Before he knows it, Keith has him pinned. Keith’s legs are straddled across Shiro’s waist, his left hand holds Shiro’s prosthetic arm down against the training room floor, and his right forearm is braced firmly beneath Shiro’s chin.

The fight is over, and Shiro knows it.

Silence hovers around them, interrupted only by the sounds of their labored breathing. Carefully, at the realization of his victory, Keith lifts his arm and releases the pressure from under Shiro’s jaw and Shiro can only stare up at him, a smile breaking across his face. He meets Keith’s eyes and watches as his companion’s face relaxes, as well.

“Definitely better,” Shiro pants.

 Keith chuckles and nods, but doesn’t move, eyes a little hazy as they stare down at Shiro.

Shiro lets himself enjoy the closeness for a moment, until Keith’s grin suddenly fades and his expression grows more serious… more vulnerable.

“I missed you, Shiro” Keith tells him through his steadily-evening breaths.

The comment catches Shiro off guard, but Keith doesn’t even give him time enough to respond. As though he's suddenly realized that he’s still sitting straddled across Shiro’s lap, Keith pushes up quickly and scrambles a bit to remove himself from atop the other man, inching away to put some space between them. Shiro eyes him as he does so, watching as he puts a respectful distance between them, but even so, he can't help but notice the way Keith hesitates to move any more than a foot away. Keith tucks his legs beneath himself and turns his head away, avoiding Shiro’s gaze and staring at the far wall where their jackets sit discarded. Shiro pushes himself up from the floor and leans back on his hands, waiting and half-expecting Keith to speak again.

When he doesn’t, Shiro speaks instead.

“I missed you, too.” He says it as calmly as he can, because despite his conviction in those words, there is a quiver in his chest that so desperately wants things to be alright between them, to be the way they were all those months ago. But things are different now, he knows that; and he just tries to ignore the ache he feels when Keith doesn’t respond or look at him.

The room is too quiet now, the air a little too thick with words that perhaps he should have said when he first woke up in Keith’s home after his rescue. He honestly doesn’t know what he should do or say now to make things better… or if anything he could say would make things better anyway.

“Keith. I missed you,” He repeats instead, more firmly this time.

Without thinking too much about it, lest he overthink it, Shiro lets his hand - the hand he has that’s still made of flesh and blood - reach out and touch his companion’s knee. _That_ gets Keith’s attention. He jerks his head back and stares down at the hand resting gingerly atop his leg before darting his eyes back up to Shiro’s face.

“Thank you…” Shiro starts, his voice low in the relative quiet of the room, “for… for everything you did for me… everything you’ve done.”

On the surface, Shiro means the rescue. Without Keith, he wouldn’t be here; hell, he might not have ever made it out of Garrison containment. Without Keith, he might have wound up imprisoned all over again - except this time on his home planet - if only out of the fear that his Galran arm would have generated.

But beneath that, he mean so much more, and he hopes Keith understands. He doesn’t have the words right now to say as much, to say what all he wants to: to thank Keith for sending him off to Kerberos with love despite pleading with him to stay, for looking for him after he went missing, for saving him, for accepting him when he came back no longer the man of flesh and blood Keith had known.

Things are different now, but there’s also so much that hasn’t change, and Shiro wants to thank Keith for every iota of care he’s given him.

Keith swallows, tendons of his throat tensing and relaxing, but says nothing in response. And Shiro’s about to take that as his cue to go: perhaps the things he remembers about what they used to be are best left in the past. Shiro starts to withdraw his hand, but before he can, Keith is moving into his space. He inches closer to Shiro and closes the space between them, his hand coming to cradle Shiro’s jaw as he presses their mouths together.

It’s tentative at first - hesitant and still - and Shiro doesn’t dare move, too afraid that the moment will end if he does. But Keith doesn’t pull away. Instead, he parts and relaxes his lips before pursing back against Shiro’s mouth. Shiro’s fingers curl against Keith’s leg, his fingernails catch on the fabric of his pants, and he wants so much to let his needful digits stroke through Keith’s hair, to truly return this kiss in kind. But he doesn’t; the whimper that ekes its way out of Keith is enough to tell him that this needs to go at Keith’s pace and not his own.

They stay like that for a moment; Shiro doesn’t know how long it is exactly, but it feels all too short when Keith’s mouth parts from his. Keith pulls back, but his hands don’t leave Shiro’s jaw; he stares at Shiro, a tentative thumb grazing along the angle of Shiro’s jaw.

“Shiro, I…” Keith starts, but stops himself, opting instead to lean forward and steal another kiss rather than speak.

This time, it’s more fervent. There is a sudden desperation that pools and spills from Keith’s mouth as it claims Shiro’s once again. His lips part, and Shiro responds in kind, allowing Keith’s tongue to dart past his lips. It’s shallow at first, tongue just barely grazing against Shiro’s before it retreats, but within an instant, he presses for more. Keith lifts up to his knees and edges closer to Shiro, hands grasping desperately at Shiro’s face as his mouth opens once more to seek out the taste of his companion.

Shiro takes him in, welcomes him with shaking breath and a weighty need that’s building somewhere deep inside him. It’s been so long, and he’s missed this so much more than he ever allowed himself to admit during all those months of captivity. Shiro’s hand encircles Keith, warm palm pressing hard at the small of Keith’s back as Keith towers over him on his knees.

Shiro can feel the tickle of Keith’s hair as it falls across his forehead, and finally, he allows himself to touch it. He removes his hand from Keith’s back and lets his fingers thread through those dark locks, pushing them back tenderly as his mouth surges. Keith groans softly at the touch. It’s intimate and Shiro knows it; he knows the memories it must bring back, the thoughts of all the touches and tenderness that had been lost.

Shiro straightens his back a little, lifting his weight from his prosthetic arm and wrapping it around Keith’s middle. He applies a little pressure, just firm enough for Keith to feel it, but gentle enough to give him the choice to move. But Keith doesn’t hesitate. He follows the push as Shiro ushers him closer, letting his leg swing over Shiro’s lap to straddle him once more. Keith relaxes his hips, lets their laps settle against each other, chests flush together as they kiss.

They kiss for lost time, for all the moments they were robbed of, and Shiro hasn’t felt so at peace since his capture than he does in this instant.

Before he knows it, Keith’s hands have dropped to his shoulders, and they’re pushing him back down to the floor with urgency. Shiro lets him, because in this moment, he would let Keith do anything, anything at all just to keep him near.

Shiro’s left hand rakes it’s way up and down along the curve of Keith’s spine, but doesn’t dare ease up his shirt. His right hand unthinkingly moves to rest along the camber of Keith’s neck. He’s only half-surprised when Keith pauses at the touch. For a moment, he’d almost forgotten his arm, his inhuman arm, certainly colder than his other. Part of him expects Keith to recoil, to realize through the haze of the desperation and passion, how inhuman he’s become… but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans into its touch. Keith’s own hand lifts to cup Shiro’s metallic one, nuzzling into the palm of the thing Shiro had taught himself to hate.

He doesn’t mean to, but he groans, letting his eyes slip back closed and craning up once more to claim Keith’s mouth.

Keith grows increasingly frantic - tongue searching, teeth nipping, hands moving to touch, to grip, to feel each part of Shiro beneath him. Shiro can hear the way his breath gets shakier, the way his hands fumble more with each movement, the way his hips begin to press down against Shiro. And despite Shiro’s vehement desire to not end this moment, he knows he should, at the very least so they can move to a bedroom and continue things. Shiro’s hands cradle Keith’s jaw, and steadily he slows their kisses, easing their mouths apart despite Keith’s whimpered protestations.

“Keith,” he whispers, interrupted once more as Keith steals yet another kiss, “Keith… Baby.”

It’s the whispered _“baby”_ that ultimately slows Keith down.

“We should- Let’s move this, okay?” Shiro asks, unwittingly letting his mouth take whatever pecks Keith still wants to give him. “Let’s go to a bedroom, yeah? We,” his whimpers as Keith’s lips descend to his neck make his voice stutter, “Someone could come in.”

“I don’t care,” Keith rasps against his neck. “Shiro…”

He’s frantic and desperate for the touch, and Shiro knows it because the flame that burns inside of him is just as urgent. But he wants this in comfort, he wants this in privacy; he wants to relearn Keith in everything, and he doesn’t want whatever reconciliation this might be to happen on the floor of a training center.

Keith steals another kiss, and Shiro slows him once again.

“We made it this long, yeah? A couple ex...extra moments won’t hurt.”

The suggestion seems to work. Keith’s movements slow and his breathing gets a little steadier and Shiro watches as he nods.

“...Yeah. Yeah, come on…” Keith mumbles, pushing himself to stand and pulling Shiro up to his feet, as well.

They’ve gathered their things in a matter of moments, heading down the hallway to Shiro’s room, hands clasped together as they go.

 

**::**

 

When the door shuts behind them, concealed in the relative darkness of Shiro’s bedroom, there’s a moment where he isn’t entirely sure what to do. He knows what he wants to do. He wants to take Keith in his arms, to taste him and feel him and hear his voice once more, to hear him whimper and say his name over and over again. But the moments between the training center and the bedroom have left him unsure all over again.

Ultimately, Keith is the one who makes the decision. He steps in close to Shiro, gazing up at him before placing a soft hand against Shiro’s face. He trails his hand back, fingers playing in the short buzz of hair along Shiro’s nape before pulling him down to meet his mouth once more.

No words necessary this time, and Shiro knows why. They’ve never needed a lot of words, and the silence is comfortable in all the same ways it used to be between them. He’s grateful for it.

He doesn’t hesitate this time; he meets Keith’s lips with urgency and need, tongue already searching, lips moving, pursing and relaxing in their desire to feel his lover. Something thrums deep inside his chest, and he groans as his arms wind their way around Keith. One of Keith’s arms is already draped across his shoulder, and Shiro doesn’t hesitate to urge the other one up as well. He lets Keith grip him, hold onto him tightly before his own hands dare to cup the curve of Keith’s ass.

By the firmness of his grip, Keith already knows what’s coming, winding his arms more tightly around Shiro’s neck to anchor himself. Their mouths never part, and Shiro bends a bit, his arms straining and hoisting Keith up, guiding his legs around his waist.

It’s only a few steps to the wall, and the breathy groan Keith lets out when his back hits the wall goes straight to Shiro’s head. Keith’s hands cup his face, kissing with fervor as Shiro presses their groins together.

“Shiro, please…” Keith whispers against his mouth, fingers curling and grasping for purchase in the short strands of hair at Shiro’s nape. Shiro doesn’t need to ask; he knows already what Keith wants.

“Yeah,” Shiro hums, releasing his grip on Keith’s ass to lower him back down to the floor.

Feet back on the ground, Keith keeps right on kissing him, breaking only to yank his shirt over his head and to tug at the hem of Shiro’s own. Shiro takes the cue and lets Keith yank it off of him.

But with the garment now gone, Keith freezes, and Shiro notices his hesitation immediately. His eyes drag over the expanse of Shiro’s chest, and even in the darkness, Shiro knows exactly what he sees.  

Scars.

Old wounds.

Bruises that still haven’t fully faded and maybe never will.

And just like that, beneath the weight of Keith’s scrutiny - all furrowed brow and tentative fingers - Shiro feels inhuman once again.

Keith’s hands hesitate before coming to rest against his pectorals, eyes still inspecting, and Shiro has to look away. He turns his head, closes his eyes, and feels as his companion’s fingers drag across every new scar he’s accrued since Keith had last seen him.

Keith’s movements stop as his fingers reach the point where Shiro’s arm meets his Galran prosthetic. And Shiro wishes he could make the ache in his chest go away, because it’s not his fault, it never was his fault, he never wanted to be like this… But the shame he feels as Keith’s fingertips graze along the line where human flesh descends to metallic barbarism is oppressive and overwhelming that he feels he can hardly breathe.

Somewhere - somewhere that feels so far away from him in this moment - he hears Keith’s breath stutter and shake.

“I’m. I’m sorry…” Shiro forces out, still not able to turn his head back to look down at his companion.

_I’m sorry for what I’ve become._

Shiro doesn’t expect to feel the gentle touch of Keith’s hand cradling his jaw, urging his head back to look at him.  

Shiro is sure he’ll be met with disgust when he opens his eyes. Terror. Repulsion. Because god knows, even _he’s_ repulsed by what they made of him. But there’s none of that. Keith’s face is soft and open - it’s caring and Keith is looking at him with that same affectionate gaze that he always had before Shiro left.

“You’re safe,” Keith tells him firmly, no inkling of doubt or hesitation in his voice, “You’re alive, and you’re still you.”

Keith pulls Shiro’s face down, meeting him in a tender kiss. It’s devoid of the frenetic urgency from earlier, but filled with so much more.

“You’re still you.” Keith murmurs against his lips.

Shiro lets out a shaking breath; he leans in close and presses his forehead against Keith’s. He revels in the calm that takes him over at the touch, relaxing as Keith’s hands graze over his body in the same, intimate way they always used to.

And he feels a little more human.

“Shiro,” Keith breathes, mouth ghosting close to his, “I love you.”

Those words alone make Shiro pause.

They’ve never said it before. Felt it, of course. Implied it, always. But never had those words been solidified between them.

And maybe they should have been. Maybe they should have been said long before he left for Kerberos. But he supposes that doesn’t matter, because Keith is saying them now, and the rawness in his voice tells Shiro that he means it.

Shiro kisses him, because he can’t think of what else to do. He kisses him hard, pulls him close, feels the warmth of Keith’s body as it presses against his, and speaks into his mouth.

“I love you, too.”

**::**

It’s Keith who moves them to the bed, and Shiro is happy to let him guide them. Keith lies down and pulls Shiro to him, urging the other between his open, waiting legs. His pants strain from the tension, but he doesn’t seem to mind, mouth warm and open for Shiro, body yearning for whatever touch he can get.

Shiro presses down into him, body rolling against his - fluid and pliant and wanting, going wherever Keith would have him go. He only moves away when Keith ushers him to do so. Nimble, determined fingers push at the waistband of Shiro’s pants, urging them down as best he can. Shiro understands - he’d have to be a fool not to - and he leans up, ridding himself of his pants and briefs as Keith unbuckles his own and does the same.

They’re naked now and Keith's body feels the same as it always has. Shiro finds comfort in the familiarity. He eases between Keith’s legs once more, folding himself down close, his elbows resting at either side of Keith’s head. He cages him, encases him, guards him off from the world, lowering his mouth to Keith’s with a gentle roll of his hips.

Keith hisses at the contact of their hardened lengths, hips canting up automatically to seek out the touch. It’s been so long and he needs so much.

“Please…” Keith whimpers against Shiro’s lips, and Shiro doesn’t need to be told twice.

He pushes up to his arms and leans across Keith, reaching to the bedside table to grab at the salve oil that sits there. 

Allura had given it to him on their first night in the castle. She had keenly noted the discomfort that his prosthetic must give him along the line where metal meets the sinew of flesh; she had assured him that it would help. And it certainly had, and well, it isn’t exactly lube, but he figures it’s the best and safest substitute they have at the moment.

He steals one more kiss - full of tongue and teeth and warmth - before moving to lie at Keith’s side. He pours the oil onto his fingers, suddenly very thankful he had chosen to lie on his right side so that his actual hand could be the one touching Keith. Shiro’s mouth lowers to Keith’s shoulder, peppering kisses along the expanse of skin as he coats his fingers in the oil. Satisfied, he sets the salve aside and eases Keith’s already spread legs open a fraction wider, his finger moving to Keith’s entrance.

He pauses just as his finger begins to rub at it. Shiro waits, pad of his finger tracing lightly around the rim before leaning in close to Keith’s ear.

“This okay?” He murmurs low against the shell of his ear.

Keith nods immediately, a breath hitching in his throat as Shiro touches him.

“Yes. It-it’s good… Please.”

Something coils hot and heavy in Shiro’s loins at the desperate sound of Keith’s words. He’d missed this - dear god had he missed these sounds.

His teeth nip at Keith’s ear as he eases his finger into him. He moves slowly - not to tease, though that’s certainly an added benefit, but simply to enjoy and savor the tight, hot feeling around him. Shiro doesn’t want to forget this, doesn’t want to waste these moments. Their days are precious - his capture and the war that wages around them is testament enough to that - and none of them are guaranteed a tomorrow. All he wants is to relearn Keith, inch by inch, to revel in his presence again.

Shiro eases his finger out slowly and adds a second without resistance. Keith’s low growl in his ear is steadily breaking his resolve to take his time, but he fights the urge to rush ahead. His fingers pump slowly - languid, long movements pushing into and stretching his partner with torturous care.

“God,” Shiro groans, pressing into Keith’s side a little harder, unable to stop the slight roll of his hips. He’s starved for contact, aching for love and pleasure and Keith. Shiro’s lips nip along the line of Keith’s jaw, the taste of skin and salt jolting through him with each peppered kiss. He pulls his fingers out slowly and shushes Keith when he whines at the loss of contact. 

Three fingers press against Keith’s entrance - not sliding in just yet - but massaging and teasing, and the keening arch of Keith’s body is reward enough for Shiro. He lets two slide in shallowly and pulls them out, replacing them with a gentle thrust of three.

“Shiro!” Keith pants. He cranes his head to the side, desperate to find Shiro’s mouth, lost in a haze of pleasure and affection and overwhelming emotions.

“I missed you so much,” Shiro hums into Keith’s mouth, pumping his fingers with a little more speed.

“God, I… I thought I’d never s-see you again,” Keith whimpers, his hands reaching out to grasp at Shiro’s body, fingers trying to grip and coax his lover over and on top of him. Shiro knows what he wants, but doesn’t move just yet.

“Is that enough, will you be okay?” He asks, knowing he’s prepared Keith well, but only wanting him to be comfortable, to feel good, despite his own desperate desires.

“Yeah, babe…”

Shiro nods and slips his fingers out of Keith, reaching once more for the oil and coating himself with it. He crawls between Keith’s waiting legs, still so ready and open for him. His left hand presses under Keith’s knee, easing the leg up a bit more so he can spread him more and palm along the line of his hamstring. Shiro massages the muscle, easing its tension, and lines himself up. He presses the head against Keith’s entrance and pushes forward, coaxing the hole to spread, relax, and let him in.

Keith moans low and urgent as Shiro pushes into him, head pressed back into the pillow. Shiro takes it slow; it’s been a long time for them both and they deserve the comfort. It makes him feel human again, to remember this feeling, to know this love once again when a month ago he had been resigned to the idea that he would never see Keith’s face again. 

Once Shiro’s in fully, his hand releases Keith’s leg, opting instead to fold himself over his lover. Keith winds his legs around Shiro’s waist, holding him tight, and cranes his head up the moment Shiro’s near enough to him to claim his mouth.

It’s open-mouthed from the start. Their tongues slide along each others’ with wet, sensual desire and Shiro just can’t hold back anymore. Keith cants his hips, silently begging Shiro for movement, and Shiro complies. He thrusts his hips long and slow at first, easing out almost to the head before pushing back inside just how he knows Keith loves it. It’s overwhelming and by the way Keith grunts, Shiro knows he hasn’t forgotten an inch of his lover’s body.

Keith’s arms wind around Shiro’s back as his hips pick up speed. He doesn’t move fast, but he pushes into Keith with need and desperation, so unable now to contain the desires that have been building since the moment he first saw Keith’s face after his rescue.

Shiro braces himself on his elbow beside Keith’s head, unable to stop himself from threading his fingers into the thick, dark locks that sprawl across his pillow. He buries his face in the curve of Keith’s neck, hips still pumping hard and rhythmic into his lover. Shiro’s fingers tighten and tug at Keith’s hair with every broken moan that passes Keith’s lips.

“Feel good, baby?” Shiro breathes into his ear, and Keith nods, pressing the side of his face against Shiro’s.

Shiro takes the opportunity, kissing along his temple, hips never stopping their motions as his mouth trails along Keith’s skin. He lets his teeth play at the flesh of his neck, never biting hard, but pressing, digging enough to make sure Keith feels him.

And god, does Keith feel him. Shiro’s pace quickens, cock thrusting into Keith’s hole a bit harder and faster with each cant of his hips.

“Shiro, baby,” Keith groans, fingers curling into the hardened muscle of Shiro’s back. His fingernails scrape, holding on as Shiro’s pushes him closer and closer to the edge. Keith’s legs tighten around Shiro’s waist, urging him to go faster, and Shiro knows he must be close. Shiro pushes himself up a bit, hips only stuttering for an instant as he braces himself on his prosthetic arm, his other arm reaching between them to grasp as Keith’s cock.

He pumps him in time to his thrusts, knowing though that neither of them will last much longer. He feels so torn, mixed up with a desire to draw this out as long as possible, not ready for it to end, and the desperate, hot feeling in his gut that is aching for release.

Shiro can feel Keith’s dick swelling for an instant in his palm as he pumps him, before Keith comes with a broken groan.

“Ah, god, Shiro, fuck.”

His name on Keith’s tongue - sinful and perfect - is all it takes to send him over the edge. Shiro thrusts a few more stuttered thrusts before coming hard inside of his lover.

“K-Keith,” Shiro whimpers, trembling as he comes down from the high and settles down a bit more heavily atop Keith’s body. Keith’s arms don’t unwind from around him, but pull him tighter and closer instead, fingers pressing hard into his muscles as they hug and hold each other, intertwined and basked in a reconciliation they hadn’t known they’d needed.

“I love you,” Shiro whispers into Keith’s ear.

“I love you,” Keith tells him right back.

**::**

It’s late - so very late - by the time the two of them are cleaned up and settling back into the comfort of Shiro’s bed. Shiro’s tired, and he knows Keith has to be too. They don’t say much - too worn out from training and emotions and love-making to say any words that haven’t already been said. And that’s okay.

Keith settles under the covers first, scooting back closer to the wall, as Shiro takes his place in the empty spot without question. He presses his back against the warm expanse of Keith’s chest, letting Keith’s arm slide around his middle to pull him just a fraction closer. He rests his hand - his actual hand - over Keith’s and strokes along the lines of his knuckles as Keith peppers kisses along his shoulders.

::

They’re asleep before they know it, and Shiro doesn’t dream.

Shiro doesn’t dream very often anymore, anyway. A defense mechanism, or something like that; but not this time. This time, he’s sure it’s simply because he doesn’t need to dream tonight.

His sleep is still now; calm and still.

**Author's Note:**

> Ya know, for a while, I wondered if I should make a special little paragraph to address exactly how Shiro had a hoodie in space. But then I kind of figured if the fandom can suspend disbelief enough to accept Lance's impromptu Lion Slippers and Evening Face Mask, y'all can deal with a hoodie too. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> And once again, if you'd like to see the sort of accompanying drawing, you can find it [HERE](http://commodorecliche.tumblr.com/post/147167643583/idk-this-was-supposed-to-be-them-sparring-and). 
> 
> Thanks for reading everyone! I always appreciate any comments you guys have. 
> 
> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://commodorecliche.tumblr.com) and on [twitter](https://twitter.com/commodorecliche)


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